


One Night in Eichenwalde

by someonehasto



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, background ocs I made on the fly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonehasto/pseuds/someonehasto
Summary: Torbjorn is in Germany to help fix up the defenses of a small town at the start of the omnic crisis. He meets a very loud very friendly man. How things go from there.Tags will be updated as I go!





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haha wow boy howdy so here we are. Here we fucking are. Y'all forced me to do this. I was forced into this.
> 
> Here's a Torbjorn fanfic for you all. It's was suppose to be about Torb but now its about Torb and Reinhardt with focus on Torb. It's a whoopse all Torbs fanfic. Updated whenever I feel like it. Probably ooc. I did my best with the lemons god squeezed into my eyes at birth.

The sun was setting over the mountain town. The sun was already disappearing behind the trees, and deep pinks and violets had cast themselves over the sky. The stars were starting to shine and the late summer air was clear of any cloud that would stop them from doing so.

People were milling about, in and out of shops and restaurants and homes. Kids and teens were running around bored and looking for something to do. The elderly were out on their stoops enjoying the mild warmth of the night. Motorists passed by to destinations unknown and a lone plane flew overhead, a straight line of pollution trailing behind it.

It hardly looked like a war was on.

Torbjorn looked down from the world around him, at the phone in his hand. The message was still there, light glaring and words all jumbling together into nonsense. He’d been looking at the same message for a few days now and had still come to the same conclusion. It was ridiculous.

He pocketed his cellphone and hopped up from where he'd been sitting on the stoop of the beerhall. There was some stray notes of an accordion drifting out the doors. He’d been in the town for two days now and he still wasn’t use to what the people here called music. He wasn’t due to start inspection and repairs on the area’s defenses until the day after next. He felt the approaching ache of  migraine. And he was still dealing with jetlag from his stay in Tokyo.

To hell with it, a drink was exactly what he needed.

Torbjorn walked up the stairs two at a time. The place seemed ok. Some old building retrofitted into a bar. The windows were open, the banners and flags that hung over the tables billowing in the summer air.  Something was being cooked in the back that filled the place with the smell of spices and the tempered warmth of a kitchen. A few people were inside, but most preferred the tables that were sat on the bar’s veranda. The polka music was…present. It seemed like a decent place to get work done.

Except for the table of loud boorish men and women in the back. They were all speaking in German, so he couldn’t discern what they were discussing. But they were certainly passionate about it, judging by the decibel they were speaking at.

Torbjorn huffed, the hair of his moustache fluffing up indignantly. He walked over to the bar, taking a stool and ordering a beer.

He went back to his phone. A message from Sven out in Kabul, updating him on the defenses he'd erected for the army there. Another message from Ziqing from Russia, where the barriers around Moscow were being torn down faster than the Guild could rebuild them.

Someone at the table let out a guffaw. The rest soon followed. Meanwhile news of the recent attack in Los Angeles estimated some 3,000 casualties.

Torbjorn was finished with his beer before he was even done with the article. He ordered another. Pulled a pen and notebook from his bag and slapping them onto the counter he got to work. There was no time for relaxing. At the very least he could work and drink at the same time. Last he checked he'd designed prototypes for half those tin cans while shit faced in his time at the Guild. He could damn well make something to fight them off the same way.

The first order of business was getting the reaction time and firing rate up on the turrets in Moscow and the refugee planes leaving it. They weren’t going to build up additional defenses if the damned things attacking them weren't getting knocked back. From there he could work on improving the formula for the lining of the main infantry's body armor. Easy enough.

His pen moved across the paper quickly, the coarse table underneath leaving tiny dents in his handwriting. A few pages filled with chicken scratch in the span of minutes. Paper wasn’t as sturdy or safe as writing on his a computer, but the flow of an ink pen over notebook was more conductive to his mental process for some reason or another.

Another burst of laughter came from the table in the back. The sound of slamming glasses and mindless chatter breaking his train of thought.

Maybe a bar wasn't the best place to be working on all this.

Finishing his second beer, Torbjorn ignored the thought.

There was also the deal with the ammunition the bots were using. Most of it was regular bullets, but a few had begun using explosives, acidic rounds, and in a few cases, EMPs. The new defense systems would needed to be designed around that. He had a few ideas on how to combat the latter two, but explosives were going to be a problem.

He checked and rechecked his work every few seconds. Soon he was in the deep focused haze of creation. The steady stream of thoughts moving from synapse to synapse in his brain and out onto the paper. The work kept his thought of the destroyed skyscrapers in Russia. The raging fires in Afghanistan. The pallets of nano meds in America. Between him and the equations in front of him there was only the solid objective problem and the logical sterile steps to solving it. Everything else was gone.

But as soon as he had sunk into the peaceful focused state, he felt himself shaken out of it. It was the thudding reverberating footsteps that jolted him out. Torbjorn felt the impact of the man's footsteps behind him before he saw him. There was a loud cacophony of heavy clinking glass as he laid nearly a dozen empty drinking glasses on the counter of the bar.

"Another round!" the man said in English. Not really said, Torbjorn thought, but bellowed.

He tried to focus back on his work.

The bartender laughed and replied something in German. Torbjorn only had a small grasp of the language, but from how he sounded, he must have known the man.

"It's still on me, no matter what Vanya says.” The other replied. “Don’t forget to pour another drink for my friend here as well."

It felt like a sledge hammer had slammed into his spine when the man clapped a hand against his back. Torbjorn was pretty sure a disc had just been dislocated.

"Do I know you?" he snapped quickly turning to the man.

In return the man grinned, barring his teeth like some wild animal.

"Not at all!"

The bartender, regardless, slid him a third beer.

Torbjorn blinked, looking up at the man again. He was big. Muscular. His hand was damn near the size of Torbjorn’s skull. There were a few noticeable scars up and down his body. A tattoo on his left shoulder, something like a Morningstar, looked familiar. His eyes were a vivid grey and were surrounded by a distinct tan line, like he worked outside a lot. But mostly Torbjorn noticed the long mane of blonde hair that fell over his shoulders like some fairytale princes. A small strnd had been braided and tucked behind his ear for an extra touch. Handsome fella.

Stupid though.

"Thanks.” Torbjorn took the beer and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth and sat the glass back down.

“Now leave me alone."

The man laughed. He was certainly an amused fellow. Probably drunk. But he didn’t leave.

"Me and my friends saw you over here moping around by yourself. We wanted to know if you’d like to join us for a drink."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Norwegian?"

"Swedish and I’m sure."

He finished the drink. Maybe that’s what the oaf had been waiting for. But instead he remained, picking up glasses of beer as the bartender handed them to him.

"Ah well you’ve come all the way from Sweden to this fine country, let us show you some hospitality."

"I’ve got work to do." he shrugged turning back to his equations. He looked between them and the rows upon rows of liquor bottles in the back of the bar. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge this guy he’d go away.

"Work? You act as if there isn’t a war on." The strange said.

Torbjorn snorted.

But the stranger continued.

"It’s no good to sit by yourself and brood in the shadows. At a time like this, you should be with people! Making friends or doing something fun." He paused as if to contemplate his own words.

He couldn’t help it. Torbjorn turned and looked back at the man, who was now hold about six large glasses of beer. He had a small smile and was looking at him expectantly.

"You really believe that?" Torbjorn felt his mouth twitch in a smile.

"If I didn’t believe it, why would I come over here to try and drag you away from your time in this dark little corner?" he replied.

"To annoy me." 

The man chuckled.

“I have better things to do.”

“Do you?”

The man shrugged, backing away with a tiny bow of his head. He took the final glass of beer that the bartender handed him.

"Ah well I won’t push. To each his own. But if you change your mind and would like a few rounds of free beer, you can come over any time."

"Trying to bribe me?"

"Never!"

"That’s the first smart thing you’ve said."

He turned, again trying to refocus on his work. Looking at the jumble of ink before him, he regretted having spread his latest project across five pages. Tugging at his beard, he tried to will himself back into his focused place.

"I would, however-”

Torbjorn sighed.

-challenge you to a drinking competition."

He waved him away.

"I’ve got better things to do!"

The man, still balancing some nine beers in his arms like a clown, nodded heading back to the table.

"Eh, you’re almost certainly right." the man sighed. "It would hardly be a challenge anyways."

Torbjorn caught himself smiling again.

The numbers in front of him just weren’t budging. The variables, usually at least a source of a puzzle to undo, would not turn over in his head. He looked up at the bartender, who quickly stopped staring at him and went about his time cleaning the counter.

Torbjorn turned in his seating, finding the stranger glancing at him with a look of innocence.

Ah to hell with it, he needed distraction right now.

"Alright if it’ll shut you up.” He said, closing his notebook. “I doubt I was going to get any work done with you and your friends over there making all that noise.”

The man grinned.

“My name is Reinhardt!” he said moving back to his side. “I would shake your hand but mine are currently full of beer.”

“A frequent occurrence I’m sure. Big German bastard.” He mumbled back. “Torbjorn.”

He threw his things into his bag and grabbed his beer. The man followed close by and led the way back to his table.

It was only when he was down off his chair and approaching the rest of the table, that Torbjorn realized the entire group was nothing but giants. He'd been used to most people being taller than him. But there was being taller than a dwarf and then there was being taller than any human had a natural biological right to be.

There were seven of them. They were extremely tall and well built. A few of them were wearing cut off shirts or shorts, others in military jackets. All of them seemed to have a similar tattoo to their friend’s. And all of them were talking loudly and boisterously with the aplomb of mean and women who didn’t have a thing in the world to worry about.

Well at least the company would be interesting.

"I return with a new companion!" Reinhardt announced placing the glasses onto the table.

"His name is Torbjorn and he is Swedish!"

The table erupted with cheers of greetings as they grabbed their glasses and clinked them together in greetings.

Torbjorn pulled up a free chair on one side of the table, Reinhardt on the other.

“This is Vanya, Jan, Yannic, Magdalena, Yvonne, Ronja and Ronja.”

"Your friend challenged me to a drinking competition." he said flatly "Apparently it’s not a bribe though."

"He’s easy to beat if you pace yourself." one of the women said. She was red headed and had a piercing across her septum. Magdalena? No Ronja. He’d already forgotten.

"He’s a push over after his fifth or sixth."

"Please, he gets more invested in winning the more he’s had." a man with a buzzcut replied. Jan? Yannic?

Reinhardt only smiled in response, separating two beers from the group and giving one to himself and another to Torbjorn.

"Let us begin."

The first three drinks had already started to take effect. Torbjorn felt floaty and bloated, lower, but in a pleasant way. He drank the fourth down slowly, deciding that maybe this was a better way to spend the evening than paying for his own drinks.

"So do all of you spend your time pestering strangers at the bar, or is it just Reinhardt here."

Reinhardt winked at him over the rim of his drink, which he was already halfway done with.

"Just Reinhardt," one of them said.

“I don’t think I was going to get rid of him.”

“Ah no,” another buzzcut young woman laughed. “You’ve just got to be sneaky about getting him away. Distract him with food or getting him to talk about himself.”

“Ha!”

“Honestly if you need to sneak way at any point just let me know,” the redhead chimed in. “I’ll get the big guy off your back.”

Torbjorn sipped at his drink again, slowly looking over the table. Their individual bags were lying around. Water rings and food crumbs were already littering the table. There was a newspaper in the center of the table with a fork through it. Apparently the bartender didn’t mind that.

"Hmm. Is something going on?"

"What?" one of the women asked.

"You know," he waved his hand at the large table before hi, "an occasion. There’s a bunch of you here."

"Well hell we spend all our time on the field together, we might as well drink together." The redhead answered.

“Hosing blood and grease off each other’s armor is a bonding opportunity.” A guy said.

“As is swinging at each other with reckless abandon.” Reinhardt added.

“For practice.”

“Yes of course for practice.”

The gears in Torbjorn’s mind turned. Slower from the alcohol, but still far faster than most. He squinted, looking between each bulky towering absurdity of pure human strength, recognition setting in.

"That’s where I’ve seen that little design before. You’re the big bunch of idiots that run around waving hammers at omnics.”

There was exactly one second of silence before the table erupted into laughter.

Reinhardt raised his glass.

"Right you are my friend!”

The rest did the same and they all clinked their drinks together in another toast.

"You’re all quite the local heroes aren’t you?"

"That is the plan." Reinhardt answered.

Torbjorn looked between them all. Suddenly the freakish height made sense.

"I saw a poster of one of you at the train station when I arrived. Not sure which." he took a drink. "It was gaudy."

"The amount of makeup they caked onto my asscheeks to try and make me look for pretty was enough to choke a horse." the red haired woman said.

"They used a fan for me." Reinhardt said, tossing his hair back with a smile.

"I’m sure yours is the prettiest." Torbjorn finished his drink, thudding it onto the table

The fifth drink came around and they continued on.

“So what do you do then?” Reinhardt asked leaning forward. A few of his friends wondered off into their own conversations, a few had begun a card game.

Torbjorn took a long sip of his beer, continuing on into chugging when he wasn’t quite sure what to say. There had been some…scuffles when he disclosed his profession before.  He’d also been told he wasn’t very good at lying, so he went for the partial truth.

“I make armor.” he said.

Reinhardt eyes lit up.

“Do you really?”

“Of course I do!” Torbjorn placed his finished glass on the table. Reinhardt noticed and began to drink his own.

“Quite the occupation for a man such as yourself. Pushing past your anit-social tendencies to defend others must be quite a task.”

“Laugh all you want, I’m the one keeping you all alive when you’re stuck on the front lines.”

“I’m being serious!” he replied. “There is no job as noble as building things in service to protect your fellow man.”

Torbjorn shrugged.

“That’s nice.”

Reinhardt smiled.

“You should come with us on one of our patrols sometime!” he suggested, leaning forward. “Crusader armor is unlike any armor you have ever seen. The best in the world! I think you might take some enjoyment in examining it.”

Torbjorn laughed, deciding not to mention how he’d been part of the commission to design it.

“That might not be too bad.”

“Name the date. We usually wear it only on patrols, but they’re all very into keeping up moral around here.”

“I suppose a bunch of giant men in metal power armor would instill some sense of comfort in the locals.”

“They know that they are protected by the finest men and women the Crusaders can offer.” he beamed.

“Of course. Now, I’ve got to ask. Do they just go around looking for the tallest Germans to recruit into the Crusaders, or do they just collect people and put you through a centrifuge after?”

They ordered a sixth drink, and Reinhardt ordered some food.

“Seems like you’re trying to cheat.” Torbjorn commented

“It’s not cheating to eat while drinking. Only common sense.” Reinhardt said, placing his plate onto the table. “Don’t worry, I ordered you some food too.”

“The Crusaders get paid so much?”

“No, Reinhardt just lives in a hovel.” the redhead cut in. She was presently involved in an arm wrestling match with the buzzcut man “He treats us all to food too much.”

“But they have good food here!” Reinhardt replied.

“I’ll see about that.”

The food was actually very good. Though it was formed in a mound on the plate and was pooling grease at the bottom. The mac n cheese and fries they ate were all just the right amount of salty to balance out the beer in his stomach. Though that might have been the same beer fueled stomach making him think so.

“It’s alright.” Torbjorn said.

“Liar!”

At some point Torbjorn finished that beer and another was brought over.

“Why are they Swedish fish?” Reinhardt inquired “Were they actually made in Sweden?”

Torbjorn blinked. One of the other crusaders had brought out some tiny top and had gotten a small betting ring going where the victor got to eat the French fries off of the others plate, and he’d been trying to figure out why exactly they couldn’t all just eat their own french-fries.

He turned to Reinhardt who, judging by the sloppy grin on his face and the way he wobbled in Torbjorns vision, was just as drunk as he was.

“How….should I know?” he asked slowly.

“Because you are Swedish!”

“What? And were pickles first cultivated in Germany? Is that a question you could answer?”

“It’s a fine vegetable!”

Torbjorn burped, running his hand down his face as he tried to cobble together a response.

“You do realize pickles aren’t a vegetable. They’re fermented from….some other vegetable I can’t remember.”

“But one that could originate from this wondrous land!”

“They weren’t made in Sweden.”

“Are you sure?”

Some more beer occurred.

“You know I’ve come up against one of those bastion units once.”

“Oh here we go.” The buzzcut crusader sighed.

“It was raining. The rest of the battalion had already switched for the evening…”

“What are you going on about?

Torbjorn been asking the red head about something involving mountains. It was foggy now in his mind and as soon as he had been distracted, he’d forgotten why they were even discussing geography. It was the one thing about drinking he didn’t like. He didn’t like being less sharp than usual, especially when he took pride in his sharpness.

He could tell he was perhaps a little too drunk.

But not drunk enough to not catch that this large blonde haired nuclear powered knight man had mentioned a bastion unit.

“My shield had been damaged from the earlier battle. My helmet was chipped. There was thunder approaching on the horizon.”

“You fought …a bastion unit?”

“No it’s true I was there” the redhead said. “I know the way he says these things makes it sound unreal but that’s just the way he talks in general.”

Torbjorn drank his drink and settled in.

At some point, more beer was drunk.

            They were locked hand and hand, both straining to get the other down. The rest of the table was cheering on one or the other.

            “Don’t let him win or he’ll never let you live it down!” the red head pushed.

            “Come on Reinhardt you can’t have drank that much!” buzzcut shouted.

            Torbjorn reached out and flicked the edge of Reinhardt nose.

Reinhardt hand slammed backwards onto the table and Torbjorn returned to his drink.

"It’s not all about muscle big guy" Torbjorn smirked.

            The rest of the table laughed and Reinhardt blinded in confusion. His face developed a slight red tint as he shoved the remainder of his food into his mouth.

            “You do not fight with honor!” he said. “I want a rematch.”

            “Maybe next time.”

            At some point the beer stopped flowing. The windows of the beerhall were closed and the other patrons has trickled out onto the streets. The music was shut off and the smells of cooking food slowly faded. Torbjorn had hardly noticed any of it, and neither had the others, the chatter and talk melted together into one blur of comradery and laughter that blotted out the rest of the world. Reinhardt had been talking to him now for some time about old fairy tales and how they truly ended and somehow that had taken up his full attention. He wondered if Reinhardt’s storytelling was that entrancing or if it was just the alcohol.

            At some point the barkeep began to close up, gently shooing them all out of the beer hall. Reinhardt paid his dues along with a generous tip, and the group headed out into the night.

Torbjorn didn’t know what time it was and at this point he wasn’t too bothered to find out. Stepping out into the night, the air was fresh and cool. The sky was still clear and the moon was round and bright. He was only just aware of himself smiling as he looked around the open street in content drunk stupor.

"There is a place near here with the most beautiful view of the stars!" Reinhardt said coming up to him. Torbjorn looked up at his companion, who was just as sloshed. "You can see every constellation perfectly. And the view of the castle is gorgeous. I could tell you the stories about them!"

"Ah come on Reinhardt, let the poor man get some rest." The redhead,who was also a bit uneven on her feet, interrupted. The group was in an awkwrd little bundle outside, everyone deciding which way to go.

"Now hold on," Torbjorn slurred, decidedly wrapping an arm around Reinhardt. "I can get plenty of rest while hearing about some stupid stars and a castle."

Reinhardt let out a booming laugh.

"Wonderful!"

Everyone else immediately shushed him, fearing for the sleep of their neighbors.

"It’s always good to learn something new anyways." Torbjorn giggled.

The group dispersed, Reinhardt hugging each as they went. Torbjorn stood to the side suddenly realizing that he hadn’t learned any of their names. They mostly tipped their heads at him or gave him a punch on the shoulder as a parting gesture, so he didn’t worry too much.

When they were alone Reinhardt led him on into the town.

            “Alright, I’ll admit.” Torbjorn said. “Maybe a little more fun than working at the counter.”

            “I won’t say I told you so.” Reinhardt smiled. “But you make a good drinking partner Torbjorn.”

            “Wait,” Torbjorn paused. “Which one of us won?”

            The two both stopped at the same time, wobbling together in the empty street as they thought.

            They looked at each other, both squinting and trying to come up with an answer.

            “Well, I suppose we’ll have to have a rematch then.” Torbjorn sighed.

            They both broke into a laugh and Reinhardt continued to lead him to their destination.

            The destination, however, was a fence. Despite the ancient architecture of the town, the cobblestone streets, the quaint shop windows, and the antique benches, it was just a fence. A good ten foot tall hard light fence that glowed dimly in the night. Something, Torbjorn thought, he could go see anywhere. But on the other side of it, he could see a vast field of green, and even further still, he could see the mountainsides of Eichenwalde.

            “It’s usually full of cows.” Reinhardt said.

            The words processed slowly in Torbjorn mind.

            “They moved them to another location once the war started. Keep the milk and meat production safe. If they were here we might’ve been able to talk the others into tipping some.”

            Torbjorn was still confused.

            “Why would you tip a cow?”

            “Because it is fun!”

            “It’s no fun hurting some dumb animal just trying to sleep.”

            “Ah, tipping was a poor word choice. A few of us just pick them up and lay them on their sides. They get up and run away after. No harm!”

            “There is so much about that statement that is so stupid.”

            “Don’t be angry about some harmless fun just because you’re too short to participate.”

            Torbjorn nudged him in the side, but snickered none the less.

            “Alright so, how are we getting over it?”

            “Well usually I just climb.”

            “Hmm.”

            “I could lift you over if you’d like. Or you could hop on my back.”

            “You do realize I’m short yes? Not legless.”

            “There is  difference?”

            There was a silence. It was filled with the sounds of distant driving cars and crickets. Torbjorn really wanted to see the view of the field.

"I bet you another round of beer and all the gold in the castle that I can climb it fast than you.”

"You’re on.”

            The two stepped quickly up to the fence. They placed their feet at the base. Torbjorn readied himself for the climb and

 

And then he woke up.

He didn’t know where at first. He could feel wetness against his skin and smell the subtle dampness of earth. 

His eyes hurt. His head hurt. Come to think of it his entire body was full of a dull ache. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

Torbjorn opened his eyes a crack. The light of the sun shot straight to the nerves along the back of his skull. Painful, but not as bad as usual.

He turned his head to ascertain just where he had passed out drunk. The dew against the grass was light. Still fresh. There were clouds in the sky. Large and roving. It would probably rain that night. He could see green rolling on for some distance, very pretty. All of it useless.

He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Ah good! You are not dead!”

 He looked over to see Reinhardt also laying in the grass.

“Fuck.”

He sat up, blocking his eyes from the sun. Reinhardt sat up as well. Torbjorn grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a position where his frame blocked out the sun.

“Why would I be dead?” he groaned, rubbing his temples.

“I don’t know.” Reinhardt shrugged. ”You Swedes aren’t exactly as good at drinking as Germans.”

“That’s cause we got more important things to do than drink you potato swilling kraut”

He sighed, rubbing his head again.

“Got a hangover to work with now.”

“Let me buy you something to eat. It will help.”

“No time for that. I’m probably already late to work as it is.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I take my work home with me.”

Reinhardt pursed his lips, looking down at the grass between them. The sound of birds chirping and a single distant cricket filled the silence.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

Torbjorn waved at him.

“Pah,” he began to stand. “My own fault for not stopping while I was ahead.”

Reinhardt stood as well, reaching out to grab Torbjorn elbow when he stumbled.

“Let me walk you back to your home.” He said. “It’s the least I can do after plying you with beer all night.”

“You’re damn straight.” Torbjorn replied brushing grass off of his pants. Again he positioned his companion in front of him. “Next time we drink together, let’s try and be more civil about it, yeah?”

“Next time? Will you be sticking around here for a while then?” Reinhardt asked. Torbjorn thought he looked like a very large puppy in the way that he asked.

“Don’t get any ideas about dragging me off to bars whenever you’d like.” he replied. “I’m in town on business and you promised me a look at your armor.”

Reinhardt laugh was loud and hurt to hear, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when he’d met him last night. The two walked in the direction of the fence, Reinhardt making sure to stand between him and the sun the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked too long on this and did too much half assed research I'm so tired and this is too long yet still somehow terribly paced so here ya go.

Torbjorn spent the rest of the day mostly in and out of a stupor. When he was awake he kept designing and tried to eat, when he was asleep, he was asleep.

By the end of that weekend he'd come up with something suitable to prototype in Russia, and had sent the schematics to Ziquing.

Still, as the hangover faded, the ever present unease of the frontlines did not.By the time he was dressing to go to Eichenwalde's front lines, he was itching to get out and actually _do_ something.

The town was different in the morning than it was at night. The streets were more crowded. Noisier. The people moved around at a faster pace and there was hardly any room on the passing busses for him to get on. The ancient walls of the surrounding architecture breathed with the antsy life of its people.

When Torbjorn stepped off the bus, he was only a few steps from the entrance. A small tollbooth with an armed guard who looked no more than 20 stood out front. A few official looking, but not quite military, people in fatigues were patrolling the area. The current civilian security wasn’t heavy. Torbjorn approached, lugging his dufflebag over his shoulders.

"Name, identification, and business please." The kid said with a slow tone without looking up from his computer.

Torbjorn pulled his passport from his pocket and set it on the desk.

"I’m with the Guild and here on the request of Captain Lange.” He looked at the few feet of rotted stone that he saw already. The few fences, some of which were nothing but old chain-link, swayed in the wind. "From the looks of it I’d say the business is urgent."

The man looked over the papers with narrowed eyes, moving between them and Torbjorn with dropping eyes.

He still scanned the work as he lifted the small bar that blocked his path. Marvelous.

"Welcome to Eichenwalde Mr. Lindholm. I'll page Captain Lange and let them know you’re here."

Torbjorn nodded, taking his identification and heading towards the open archway that acted as an entrance.

Inside the castle was towering. Echoing with the footsteps and chatter of the soldiers that worked around its spacious halls. Chandeliers high from the ceilings. Great tapestries of ancient histories hung along the wall. The stone above him and beneath him cold and solid. The castle still held many display cases and tables, having only recently lost its position as historical landmark ad museum. Now stacks of ammunition, footlockers, and hologram maps were slowly taking over. But despite the army men and the slow encroachment of military presence, the air inside the castle was calm. Unconcerned.

Troublesome.

 A tall middle-aged man approached him. Greying red hair, wrinkles, and at least a foot above every man and woman in the area. Maybe the entire Crusader force did have a 200 centimeter height requirement.

"I’m not sure what the security boy is so careful for.” He sighed. “We’re fighting omnics not Americans."

"Mr. Lindholm." They greeted. "Glad you could make it. Early as well. We've spoken over the phone but allow me to introduce myself I'm-"

"Captain Lange yes yes very fancy very impressed, show me your defenses."

"Straight to it then."

"I'm here to keep your men alive not force everyone in the city into formalities."

“Much appreciated.” Lange smiled curtly and motioned Torbjorn to follow him.

"We'll show you around the base, let you have some hands on inspection time. Of course you’ve already seen the blueprints of our defenses.”

"’Defenses’.” He huffed. “You might as well walk straight to the front line in your underwear and lay down with how unprepared you are for an attack."

"Thank you for your honesty."

“Have you got a team up yet for when the construction begins?”

“We've gotten a small team of engineers here to help you with anything you need. Any construction that can be sourced from the town will be but we’ve contacted other () should more specialized developers be needed."

They walked deeper into the castle, the photos and maps he’d seen now springing to life in person. He noted each crack in the wall. Each missing stone in the ground. Ideas already surfacing on how to patch the place up.

They rounded a corner and found themselves facing out into the open courtyard at the center of the castle. Soldiers were running laps. Work out equipment had been set up at the east end and was being used by a few people. Men and women in Crusader armor were slowly patrolling the walls, weapons in hand. The rose bushes that had been maintained along the walking paths were still mostly intact, except for a large swath of ground in the center of the courtyard that was nothing but torn up earth. The paths were still clear. Several informative plaques still standing. The place still felt like the public museum it had been only 4 months ago.

Lange surveyed it, looking tired and utterly bored.

"If I may be frank Captain." Torbjorn said, stopping just outside the entrance to the courtyard. “You don’t seem too worried. No one round here seems to be.”

“Yes well people do get on.” Lange replied.

“There’s people and there’s your military.”

“Hmm.”

“Is there a reason for the lack of concern on your soldiers end?”

"I just don’t think this little scuffle is going to last long."

Lange turned to him.

“Apologies Mr. Lindholm but I do think you’re wasting your time.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know this matter takes on a more personal concern for yourself. But from what I’ve seen, there isn’t much of a threat to our country.”

“I’m here on request of your prime minister. Half this town was sequestered by the military as a strategic point in the event of any future omnic invasion.”

“Our prime minister is overzealous.”

Torbjorn looked up at him, fists clenched at his side.

"Thousands dead so far. Attacks in half the major cities in Russian. You think doubling up on your city's defenses is overzealous?" 

"The rogue omnic attacks have only occurred in a few countries. Far from here. The front lines are-"

"Unimportant!"

"How so?"

Torbjorn huffed, rubbing his temples. He could feel a migraine coming on soon.

"Tell me captain, how far is the nearest Omnium from here?"

"That would be Frankfurt. Hundred miles give or take.” He replied. He was being polite, Torbjorn thought, but in a way a polite parent might be to a babbling child.

"And exactly how long do you think it will before it locks up, goes offline, and starts producing Bastions by the hundreds?"

"Forever. The God Ai corruptions in the other omniums have been quarantined."

"For now."

And for now isn’t much time at all, he thought.

He turned to look out onto the grounds. The battlements of the castle walls looming overhead. The keep off in the distance. All built by hand out of stone and without a single convenience of the modern era. A great feat of engineering for the time. He felt a sentimental pang of pride at the sight. Humans could build astounding things when they felt like it. Not all of them deadly.

"This fortification faces Frankfurt.” Lange said. “If you’re so concerned I suppose that’s where you’ll start.”

 “You say you don’t think this place will ever be attacked, but you’ve got your men doing laps, running drills.”

“To keep them busy. Nothing happens out here. Got to keep some of the more excitable recruits busy.”

"Torhorn!"

And speaking of exciteable.

Torbjorn looked and saw one of the Crusader’s approaching. Lumbering so that the ground practically reverberated with each step.

"Major Reinhardt," The captain addressed him. For his part Reinhardt did stop and salute before returning to his approach.

"Hello Reinhardt." Torbjorn nodded.

"It is good to see you my friend!"

"It’s Torbjorn by the way, not torhorn."

"Ah, my apologies. Norwegian names are a bit difficult for me to remember."

"Swedish."

"Bless you."

The man loomed even more gigantic in his armor. The gaudy exterior plating and engine on his back making him more like a giant golem than a man in armor. At least with the helmet off he still look human.

"So you’ve met Major Wilhelm already?" Lange asked.

"Yes he," is a fun drunk "showed me around town a few nights ago. Showed me some of your country's renowned hospitality."

"We drank together over at the brewery"

Lange nodded.

"Major Wilhelm is one of our more....outstanding soldiers."

Ah, Torbjorn thought, so he's like that on the job too.

"Outstandingly good I should hope." he smiled.

Lange's smile tightened and their eyes narrowed.

"Yes he is." He admitted, very obviously against his better judgement. Reinhardt beamed, smile bursting at the corners.  Torbjorn quite liked the contrast.

"Good to hear. Major Wilhelm what are your thoughts on the impending omnic horde?"

He straightened up, squaring his shoulders and clutching his fist to his chest as if taking some solemn vow. The drama queen.

"I will defend my comrades and my country against whatever that metallic scourge would deign to inflict upon them!"

Lange sighed.

Torbjorn smiled, straightening up.

"That’s what I like to hear. Captain Lange, if it wouldn’t be much trouble, perhaps Major Wilhelm here could accompany us on the rest of the tour. I find it imperative to have the perspective of the ground troops when designing the fortifications that will defend them."

"It would be my pleasure." Reinhardt grinned.

"Well I trust him enough to show you around.” Lange replied.  “I’ll come back later after the tour shall I?"

"Captain." Torbjorn nodded.

He waited until Lange was thoroughly on the other side of the courtyard and around the corridor of the castle before speaking.

"He's a blind fool and an idiot if he thinks the war won’t hit here."

"Captain Lange is...optimistic." Reinhardt replied carefully. "I believe his desire to see his men safe can turn into denial."

"So an idiot."

"Tell me Torbjorn, is your more charming personality reserved for military types, or does everyone get your deliberately dour mood?"

Torbjorn squinted up at him, barely able to make eye contact past crest of his armor.

Reinhardt smiled back.

Torbjorn elbowed him but continued along the wall.

"Show me around these ruins then. Captain’s orders."

Reinhardt's armor clanged together as he jumped into action.

"Gladly.  They’re hardly ruins though. Eichenwalde castle is one of the greatest castles Germany has to offer. It was built back in 1458 by a King some say was cursed."

"You don’t say."

"At least 100 men died building its walls." 

"That’ll be aristocracy for you."

Reinhardt led him slowly around the perimeter of the courtyard. The summer air still smelling of the roses and ivy plants that grew along the walls. It _was_ a shame the museum had to be turned into a military outpost, Torbjorn thought, at least he’d get to see it before Lange realized it.

"The castle has been host to many kings over the centuries, and many battles. Only three years after its completion a hoard of Norwegian barbarians attempted to raid these very grounds."

"You sound like a tour guide.” Torb commented “Was that your job before this?"

"Hardly. I joined the army as soon as I could."

"A history buff then?"

"I’d like to say more than just that.”

“An expert?”

                “sounds far more fitting.”

"What type of rock are the walls made of?"

"Limestone I believe."

"What side of the castle has seen the most battles over the years?”

"The North and East sides have both had the same amount of conflict. Though a trebuchet was only ever used against the North"

Torbjorn smirked.

"Shouldn’t you know this already, engineer?"

"Just testing you."

"Ya? And what if I hadn’t passed?"

Torbjorn snorted.

"I’d tell you to go on. Small details or not this is the most I've been interested in a history lesson since I was a boy."

"Well the walls are magnificent. But I think the bridge is the most impressive. You must have crossed it to get to the grounds. Men who betrayed the king used to be thrown into the chasm below it as punishment for treason. The knights would drag prisoners to the ledge and throw them off into the river below. Few ever survived.”

"It’ll need more fortification regardless. Speaking of knights," Torbjorn said stopping. "You did promise me a look at your armor."

Reinhardt stopped, scratching his chin as a look of recollection crossed his face. They had circled toward the center of the courtyard, now standing on the edge of the torn up grass and the empty dirt. Every motion Reinhardt made was kicking up small clouds of dust.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“I have to admit I didn’t think yours would be in as good a shape as it is,” Torbjorn said gripping his arm and examining the brace. “It’s barely held together so that’s saying quite a bit.”

"Ha! That’s nothing! You should see the state Ronja’s was in before.”

Torbjorn turned his arm around, continuing to look at both the ornate decoration and the dents and scratches it had on it.

“I thought you Crusader types had shields to guard people with. Shouldn’t you be using that instead of…doing whatever it is that caused your armor to get in this state?”

“What I was doing was fighting off those metal monsters.” Reinhardt replied. “No sense wasting such well-built equipment on hiding.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping your shield up so the soldiers can shoot from behind it?”

“It’s not as effective as fighting them head to head.”

Torbjorn laughed at the thought of the giant idiot charging headfirst into combat.

“You could hardly think that’s a good idea.”

“Funny eh? Why don’t I call someone over for a demonstration?"

Torbjorn tensed.

"I don’t need a demonstration. I know how Crusader armor works."

"Nonsense! A demonstration I half the fun of inspecting armor. Ronja!"

Torbjorn looked to where he’d called. One of the Crusaders running laps stopped and waved. They jogged over, ground shaking with each step. As they got closer, Torbjorn recognized her as one of the Ronjas.

"Ronja you remember Torbjorn!" Reinhardt smiled as she approached.

“Reinhardt…”

“Yes I remember you! The short Swedish man who was so excited to see the constellations.” Ronja held her hand out. Torbjorn took it cautiously and she clasped it with a gentle grip.

"I promised to show him a demonstration of my armor."

"No you promised me a look at your armor."

"Good to see Reinhardt’s thrill seeking has rubbed off on you." she laughed.

Torbjorn could feel his migraine spreading. He knew it wasn’t because of Reinhardt but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still blame it on him internally.

"What are you two going to do?"

Reinhardt and Ronja smiled coyly at one another.

"Would you accept my challenge to a duel my fair compatriot?"

"As long as you’re ready for an honorable defeat."

"Why are you like this?" Torbjorn said. Neither responded.

“I’ll go fetch us our hammers.”

"Torbjorn if you would please take several steps back.” Reinhardt instructed.

Torbjorn dragged a hand down his face, pulling at his beard in frustration. Reinhardt smiled at him, waiting.

Realizing that he was not going to stop whatever was about to happen, he sighed and took a few steps back.

“I’m starting to think this was going to happen whether I asked or not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He said as he strode to the opposite end of the field. “I doubt I would want to show off as much if you weren’t here.”

“You’re going to give yourself a concussion and I’ll have to look at your armor around the doctors.”

“Oh come on,” Ronja called as she made her way to the other side of the open lawn. She was carrying two large hammers, one over each shoulder. They were five times the size of her head and yet she was lugging them around like broomsticks ready for daily house cleaning. “Promise this’ll be entertaining.”

“Your promises of entertainment mean nothing to me.”

She swung one hammer around and off her shoulder, passing it to Reinhardt who cheerfully took it and walked several meters away to the other side of the lawn.

"Are you saying you don’t want to see two of the most well trained warriors the Crusaders has to offer, go head to head in a duel?" he asked.

Well damn, Torbjorn thought, he absolutely wanted to see that.

"I want full acknowledgement that I didn't tell you to do this.” He said as the two put on their helmets. “No use risking my contract and the safety of the entire country over your showing off."

"Acknowledged!"

There was a sudden loud whirring, a low flash of light from behind him, and Reinhardt was charging forward.

The sound of the two behemoths colliding was like thunder.

None of the other servicemen or Crusaders around the courtyard seemed to take notice.  This was, apparently, a common occurrence.

The two juggernauts were pressed hammer to hammer, pushing against each other with the full force of their armor’s engines. Ronja took the first initiative, pushing back and swinging the large hammer against Reinhardt’s side.

The resounding smash of metal against metal shook the ground. Torbjorn crossed his arms, waiting.

The two locked head to head again, the staffs of their hammers pressed against each other. Reinhardt moved first, swinging his hammer at Ronja’s side, the flames of the hammer’s internal engine launching it like a rocket.

Ronja dodged. She swiped at the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks and blinding her opponent. But he charged again, knocking her to the ground.

Ronja’s hammer quickly swept his legs, knocking him to the off of her with a heavy crash. She was soon on top of him, foot against his chest plate.

Watching Reinhardt get flattened onto the ground was depressing. Torbjorn suddenly found himself rooting for the big idiot.

"Oh come on!" Torbjorn shouted. "Thought you were going to give me an actual demonstration!"

Reinhardt kicked up his knee, hauling Ronja off of him and tossing her off to his side. She landed on her feet, but before she could fully regain her footing, he reared his hammer back and slammed it to the ground. A cloud of dirt erupted around them as Ronja fell.

When the dust settle she was on her back, Reinhardt’s hammer was pressed to her chest.

"I yield! I yield you giant oaf" Ronja laughed from under Reinhardt.

Immediately, the Major stepped off, resting the hammer at his side and offering his hand to his friend. Pulling herself up, they clasped hands and knocked their helmets together before removing them. They were saying something loudly in German, patting each other on the back, laughing.

Fucking Crusaders, Torbjorn thought.

“Well, how was that for a demonstration?” Reinhardt boomed.

"The armor certainly works exactly as designed. I hope you had fun."

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll beat him next time.” Ronja said.

“Whatever you say, Cadet. I’ll buy you a consolatory round tomorrow night.”

Ronja waved him away with a smirk, waltzing off back to his route along the wall.

“Torbjorn, Reinhardt.” She laughed.

They watched her her walk away.

"Glad you got that out of your system." Torbjorn snorted and snatched the helmet from Reinhardt hands and looked it over. Immediately he noticed one long thin crack slashing vertically down the surface.

"How’d this happen?"

"In battle of course!"

Torbjorn examined the helmet. The interior lining and the gaudy baubles and designs on it were all in good shape.

"I’m guessing the other guy didn’t get up afterwards."

"The omnic didn’t seem capable of moving, no."

"How old is this thing?"

"Ah,” he replied running his fingers through his hair like a preening cat, “as old as the rest of it. I was given this armor maybe 5 years ago. It’s certainly not the oldest set around here."

The crack in the helmet wasn’t disastrous. Hell it could probably take a blow from one of those hammers without budging. But it was still a weakness. It might take one swing or even 100, but it would crumble eventually without repair.

"I imagine you have some sort of armory or workshop for repairs somewhere around here."

"In the castle, yes."

"Lead the way then. Can't have you running around with a chipped helmet."

"It’s hardly even a scratch."

"I’m the engineer here. You stick to brawling it out and I’ll stick to patching your armor up afterwards."

Reinhardt conceded, leading him to back into the castle.

"Our armory is located in the tunnels beneath the main structure. In 600 years there hasn’t once been a flood or collapse in it)." he said proudly.

"What was it used for? Torture chamber?"

"Brewing beer." 

"Ha!"

He led him into the castle, past more bored looking soldiers and lax security, eventually taking him down into the pits of the castle.

The place was mostly empty. A few soldier reloading guns, polishing their boots. The sort of place that remained empty from lack of actual war. It was well placed, he had to admit. When attacked the stock of ammunition and repair supplies would be difficult to reach. Towards the back there were a few work benches and racks of tools. Storage containers full of disused repair equipment.

Reinhardt led him to one that looks slightly less abandoned and Torbjorn got to work checking that the laser welder was still in working condition.

“Occasionally people will come down here to buff out their own armor or find something for mechanics to fix their cars with. All this stuff was moved in when the castle was commandeered from the public.”

"Alright." he said looking over everything. "I’ll solder this today. See if I can arrange a proper long term solution in the next few days.

"You know, some might call you a pessimist." Reinhardt said, taking a seat on a stool next to the workbench. It somehow held up his weight, and the sight of the large metal man crouched on it was comical.

"Pessimism and realism are a hairs breadth away most of the time." he replied, tying up his hair and beard and scouring the area for a mask.

"I’ll get you to lighten up yet."

"Is that so? Trying to get me into denial as deeply as that Captain of yours?"

"I’m not in the habit of taking on impossible tasks.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair as Torbjorn started up the torch. “Perhaps when Balderich returns to his command, you’ll find the command of Eichenwalde more favorable."

“What is your commander doing away from the castle anyways? He was still in charge of this place when the Prime Minister contacted the guild.”

He smiled, a distant look coming to his eyes that was brightened by the orange glow of the laser. “He was moved to the front lines with the first infantry of Eichenwalde’s Crusaders. My battalion went with them but…”

Rein sighed, leaning back against the wall “He sent us back here. Seems to think we’re more needed back home.”

“You will be, soon enough.”

He took the laser away from the helmet, focusing the lenses of his mask as he examined his work.

“There we are. Should be good to wear in a minute or two.”

“Thank you.”

“Major, Mr. Lindholm.”

Reinhardt stood at attention, as did the few other wondering around the area. Torbjorn turned to see Captain Lange motioning for them to relax.

“Was the tour over so quickly?” he asked.

“Not quite.” He said, returning his attention to the helmet. “Your Major here had crack in his armor and I fixed it. He tells me most of the Crusader here have armor about the same age. Is that correct?”

“I believe so.”

"I suppose I’ll need to improve the armor of your men and Crusaders as well."

Lange sighed.

"How charitable. And how much will we be expected to pay for that?"

Torbjorn stood, handing the helmet back to Reinhardt who took it with an appreciative nod.

"The Guild will be covering the expenses, per my request."

Captain Lange raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem displeased at the notion.

"I’ll get in contact with them today and arrange it. We need to begin upgrading your men as soon as possible."

He looked over the cooling line that trailed down the left side of the helmet, over and just below the visor. He looked at Reinhardt who was looking between the two of them with another badly hidden smirk.

"Got to make sure you and every other Crusader is well equipped when you inevitably charge headfirst into a battle out of your league."

"I have all the faith in the world that you will my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt's hair is long fuck canon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I didn't forget this fic I'm just a lazy son of a bitch so here take this!
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Robyn who sent me food money and who I promised to update this fic for as thanks.

"When was the last time you slept?"'

Torbjörn looked up from the circuit board in front of him. It had come in for the castle’s turret defense system, ordered and manufactured by the Guild, but he had wanted to try something new with this one. He lifted the goggles from his eyes and the mask from his face. Squinting, he looked over a this phone to find he had been there for three hours.

He looked around.

Reinhardt, out of his armor for once, was looking down at him. The workshop around them crowded now with incoming shipments of supplies, fellow engineers putting together the defenses, and nosy soldiers weaving in and out of it all. The hustle and bustle of oncoming confrontation.

“Slept last night.”

“You’re not very good at lying.” Reinhardt replied.

"Go away." he said returning to look at the circuit board.

They were entering the 16th day of construction. All had been going smoothly, Torbjörn had been happy with the progress. Lange was still being a fool, but the other engineers listened to him, and the soldiers didn’t give him too many dirty looks.

And then an omnium had turned in Korea.

Lange still refused to listen. He’d started to notice the dirty looks around the castle. The Guild was unsure how long they could feed funds into Eichenwalde with the increasing destabilization over the rest of the globe. And the increasing hostility towards the Guild itself.

He had work to do.

“You know,” Reinhardt said leaning against the wall next to him, as he always did when he wanted to bother Torbjörn. “I could argue with you about how obvious your exhaustion is. I could point out the bags under your eyes, you being somehow even moodier than usual mood, or even the fact that you beard just isn’t as well kept as usual. But I decided I won’t!”

“Good. Now if you could decide to leave me to my work.”

“I will however point out that a man such as yourself can hardly expect to accomplish such tremendous feats of mental and intellectual strain, on an empty stomach and no sleep.”

"I’ll pick something up on the way home." he paused. “And I have been sleeping.

"Come now, you’ll be no help if you’re dead from exhaustion."

"I could say the same about you."

Reinhardt smiled, eyes twinkling like that was exactly what he wanted him to say.

“Well then how about we both get something. A home cooked meal!”

He looked up at him. Over the past few weeks he’d come to understand how dedicated Reinhardt could be into pestering others. Not so much pressuring, but a sort of dedicated worrying. Torbjörn thought of it as an extremely loud sort of mother henning. And most of the time the man would lay off well enough but. Well

Torbjörn blamed his lack of food and sleep.

“Fine,” Torbjörn sighed, trying to seem more put on than he was. “You’re cooking though. Give me an hour to finish up here first.”

“Exceptional!”

***

The apartment was surprisingly small for such a large man. The idea of Reinhardt even having an apartment was strange as is. But stepping into it was...surreal.  
The kitchen was a sliver of tile with a sink, some cupboards, a stove, and a fridge. the dishwasher and microwave were small and compact and crammed on top of each other in the corner of the counter. The island that served as a table was also the wall blocking off the living room. A small red couch that might have been able to fit Torbjörn but certainly not the man towering behind him. The doors to what he assumed were the bedroom and bathroom were also concerning small.

“Please have a seat!” Reinhardt said as they shuffled in.

Torbjörn was already in the living room, having no room to go anywhere else. It was mostly clean. A few pairs of shoes tossed here and there. A few stale shirts. The tv was turned on to some e-sports channel. The entire place smelled of spices he couldn't name and the vague musky smell of whatever fancy cologne Reinhardt was always swearing.

“How on earth do you live in a place like this?”

“People have lived with less.” Reinhardt replied, tossing his jacket onto the counter and beginning to look through the fridge.

“Yes but how do you _fit in_ here. How often you hit your head on the door frames in here?”

Reinhardt turned around, offering his guest a bottle of beer.

“Too many times.”

“Well I can see why you and your friends always choose that beer hall for drinks.”

Reinhardt chuckled and went about puling various things out of his cupboards and fridge. Tying him hair up, he began doing...something with the food. Torbjörn was no chef.

“Used to be we could have after mission drinks on base.” Reinhardt said. Torbjörn watched as he began digging things out of the cupboard.

“But now that we’re stationed here and with Lange in charge, the hall is the only place to go.”

“Fine as any I suppose. Lange is still an ass though. Your last Captain sounds far more agreeable.”

Torbjörn sat on the couch, sipping his beer and trying to get comfortable. For Reinhardt’s sake of course. It was always strange trying to get familiar with someone else’s living space. Just being there felt like an invasion of personal space albeit one he’d been invited to.

"He is due to return soon according to Ronja. Once he does maybe you and Lange will finally get along."

"I’m sure we'll get along just fine once hes not in charge. I just hope this von Adler won’t somehow be worse."

There was a flash of fire. He looked over at Reinhardt who was cutting up something, but his lips were pursed as he attempted to stifle a laugh.

"Whats so funny?" Torbjörn squinted.

"You and Balderich will get along famously,” Reinhardt sighed “I’m sure of it."

"Hmm, that so?"

"You’re astoundingly alike you two," he said cutting one last slice of onion."Though he’s far less irritable. And he knows how to relax."

"He sounds interesting enough.”

"My master is the bravest and most capable man I know! He was one of the first participant of the Crusader program and the only soldier I know who can dual wield rocket hammers! He was awarded a custom set of armor for his bravery in the Canadian civil war not 5 years ago! Should you be disappointed in him I shall consider you either arrogant or a fool. And you’ve struck me as quite an intelligent man so far Torby.”

There was a look in his eyes as he said so. Bright and excited, looking far off. It made Torbjörn smile and his gut flip. He took another drink.

"Hmm, you sure do shovel a lot of praise on the man. He better live up to it."

Reinhardt chuckled "He will."

They fell into a comfortable silence as the food cooked and Reinhardt went about cleaning up the kitchen. Torbjörn felt himself dosing in and out but forced himself to stay awake lest his friend be proven right. He watched the tv as bright colors flashed on and off. Some game that Torbjörn had never really been into. Come to think of it he hadn’t thought Reinhardt much of a video game person himself. How on earth could a mouse or controller fit into his hands? Though maybe he could build up some sort of custom interface for the oaf if he really was into the silly things.

“You didn’t tell me that the Berlin Bandits were playing!” he said with a gasp as he looked at the tv.

Torbjörn jumped, eyes shooting open. He hadn’t realized he was drifting off.

“How was I suppose to know you cared?”

“Move over.”

“I am over!”

Reinhardt handed him a plate, sitting down beside him with a whumpf from the couch. Torbjörn could feel his body leaning towards the man from the imbalance.

“I didn’t take you for a video games man.”

“I don’t play them, but I like watching the tournaments. The Bandits are one of my favorite.”

“Hmm.”

He looked down at the warm bowl of food he had been handed. He could see vegetables and meat.

"What is this?" he said poking around the bowl. It smelled delicious, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to question it.

"Food. My father used to make it for me when I was sick as a boy."

Torbjörn snorted, but took a bite, trying to get a little bit of everything in one go.

Damn it.

It was amazing.

Reinhardt smiled down at him with a smug grin.

"Shut up."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were thinking it loudly."

He continued eating and Reinhardt watched the continuing match on tv. After a few minutes, hoping his ego would have gone down, he made a comment.  
"Its good. Wish I could cook like this."

“Ah well, I was blessed with a long standing family tradition of cooking on both sides.”

“Your mother have good recipe as well then.”

“Several. Ah, you must let me make you Kalops some time. She always used to feed it to her Swedish friends and they said it was very good. Just like home.”

“I’m sure.”

He took another bite. He hadn’t realized how hungry he had been.

“It's weird imagining you having parents” Torbjörn commented. “ I can't imagine you as a baby. They both as large as you are?”

“I get it from my mother’s side.”

“Hmm.”

"My mother was an infantry woman and my father worked as a medic in the third world war. "

“You don’t say?”

"Though uh, officially he wasn’t in the registry.” Reinhardt said slowly “He went over to on his own. Saved people though!"

Torbjörn burst into laughter.

“What!”

Oh that was good.

"That does explain a lot."

“Leave me be, it’s a proud heritage!”

He kept laughing. Christ.

"What about you?"

Torbjorn heaved a sighed, calming down. He shoved more of the stupidly good food in his mouth and took a swig of beer.

"Hmm. I’ve got my mother. Two brothers and a sister."

“And which side gave you your gorgeous beard and personality? Your father?"

Torbjörn didn’t say anything, only shooting Reinhardt a glare before continuing with his food.

"Ah, my apologies."

"No its fine. My father, from what I’ve heard, was an engineer with a bright mind in everything but parenthood.  Never met him."

"And your mother?"

"She lives up in Ljusnarsberg. Raised the four of us there all on her own."

“I’ve never been. Are your siblings as sort as you?"

"Hmmph. Wouldn’t you like to know."

“Are you the baby? Is that why you’re always o mad,” he snickered. "I just imaging a sister that looks exactly like you but who’s kind."

“That’s certainly an image you’re allowed to have.”

“I also imagine she has a beard like your, only better.”

“You’re very funny,” Torbjörn said with a smile. “Agnes could bench you before throwing you across the room”

"I am sure she would be terrifying to meet."

Torbjörn felt his beard, smiling.

“My beard is much better too.”

He looked over to Reinhardt, who had finished his own food and was now turned to him, looking intently.

“Why all the questions about my family hmm? You’re not usually this nosy.”

“Ah we’ve been working together for half a month now. You can’t spend all of it hiding in the shadows brooding and building turrets. I like to know about my comrades.”

Torbjörn liked the sound of that. Comrade.

He hid his smile.

There was a flash and a bang on the television screen and something apparently very important happened on the tournament. He couldn’t tell looking at all the flashing colors and the cameras cutting to people clicking feverishly on their mouse pads.

Reinhardt shot up, cheering.

“Alright then what is this nonsense then!” Torbjörn demanded.

They spent the rest of the meal, Reinhardt explaining every intricacy of the video game Torbjörn had never heard of, and Torbjörn trying to keep himself from becoming invested.

Eventually Reinhardt took their plates to the sink. He pulled something out of the fridge. Something covered lightly in fruit and about 95% topping.

“What is that?”

“Strawberry pie.”

“Are you sure? It looks like it’s just a plate of whipped cream”

"Fine I’ll eat it myself then."

"I didn’t say that. Come on, give me some." 

Reinhardt set him up a small plate and fork. And just as the last dish, it was delicious.

"You make this too?"

"Hardly. I bought it at the bakery across the street."

“Ah to think you were almost wife material”

The pie was just as good and Torbjörn set the remainder place and silverware onto the table as the conversation lulled again. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on the television but Reinhardt seemed invested so that was all that really mattered. As he tried to keep track of the bright colors on tv his mind wondered again to the omnium and board that he had been working on. It appeared that even this brief break with his friend hadn’t been enough to distract him from his work.  
He felt himself shake lightly with a laugh. Reinhardt, his friend.

"You falling asleep over there?"

Torbjörn blinked, realizing his eyes had been slowly closing as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

"No I’m just resting my eyes you oaf. You still awake?"

"Not tired in the slightest."

“Good. It’s rude to fall asleep on a guest.”

“Yes very.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

Torbjörn sighed with a smile, finally letting himself succumb to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'd like to clarify that Reinhardt does NOT look like Handsome Shrek like in the recently released short but instead looks like all the wonderful art of him that was made after the short's release. Thank you internet artists for taking a badly rendered cgi character design and making him handsome god bless us every one.)
> 
> ^that was a comment saved back in November and it still stands. Hope everyone is having fun watching me make up the World History of Overwatch on the fly.


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